


I'll do anything for a woman with a knife

by Woulddieforbrunnhilde



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), James Bond (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Author Is Sleep Deprived, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Maria Rambeau, Bisexual Natasha Romanov, F/F, Fluff and Humor, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Male-Female Friendship, Maria Rambeau is 007
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-08-19 18:07:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20214034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woulddieforbrunnhilde/pseuds/Woulddieforbrunnhilde
Summary: After the announcement of Lashana Lynch as 007, I was giddy, and knew I had to write it. Maria Rambeau is the charming secret agent, Carol is the Bond Girl, and we have fun sci-fi shenanigans.





	1. Your mission, should you choose to accept it

There were eighteen definitive ways to kill someone with a cart full of groceries and Maria considered all of them as the woman in front of her yelled at the cashier for some unspecified insult, holding up the line for her and the three trolleys behind her.  _ Stay calm, Rambeau. She can’t scream forever.  _ Maria tried to give the poor boy her most sympathetic smile, but he just grimaced. Jeez. The poor kid looked like he was gonna cry. 

“Hey lady. Pipe down, and move it. I gotta get home to my cat before my ice cream melts, and you’re making this routine trip unpleasant for everyone.”

Ms. I'd-Like-To-Speak-To-Your-Manager actually seemed to puff up with rage. She looked like an angry blonde pufferfish. 

“How  _ dare  _ you! This young man’s disrespectful conduct—”

“I don’t care,” she said, enunciating each word sharply. “You are making everyone around you miserable. I don’t know what’s going on in your life that you have to take it out on a teenager, but it must really suck. Please find another way to express yourself.”

A vein in Blondie’s forehead popped out. 

Oops. 

Four minutes later, Bitchy-the-red-faced-PTA-mom  _ finally  _ stopped flapping her gums and got around to huffily pushing her cart away, giving Maria the stink-eye. She knew it was exactly four minutes because she was staring at the clock on the far wall the whole time, wondering what she did in a past life to deserve this. The cashier,  _ Peter,  _ actually sighed in relief. 

“That was so badass. I thought she’d never shut up.”

Maria just shook her head and started loading the food onto the checkout area.  _ Some people.  _

  
  
  


Early the next morning, she was buttoning up her snappiest suit jacket while Goose maneuvered for the slice of PB&J toast she had clenched between her teeth. For a feline, he had an odd fixation with peanut butter. Feeling particularly bold, he hopped onto her dresser and took a swipe for it. Maria leaned back and caught his grabby paws. 

“Nice try thief, but unfortunately for you, I’ve got … cat-like reflexes,” she smirked, her incredibly hilarious pun only slightly muffled by her breakfast. Striding out the door, she grabbed her keys, wallet, and gun before hitting the sidewalk to her car. 

For keeping up  _ broke millennial  _ appearances, Maria had been issued the ugliest, least functional vehicle known to man. She lovingly referred to it as “Photon,” though it struggled to maintain speeds over fifty. She never used Photon for work, seeing as her agents wouldn’t be able to carry out their tasks if they were too busy giggling at her. Besides, she got to use fancier tools than a dilapidated roadster on duty. 

She drove through the streets of Manhattan, head-banging to the Mary-Janes and struggling not to scream at the asshole who nearly caused a three-car-pile up with his shitty driving. It took five more minutes than usual to reach West 49th street, and she was already feeling grumpy. She turned left at the ugly statue of President Ellis, and pulled up to the toll booth at the entrance of the “parking garage.” 

The com unit in her radio crackled to life. “How was the drive in from Istanbul,” Agent Coulson asked. 

“The weather left much to be desired.”

The bar rose, and she drove in. Ten minutes later, she flashed her badge at an agent and walked into SHIELD HQ and the stream of agents rushing around base like a hive of busy, busy bees. The base wasn’t loud exactly, but everyone talking into headsets and typing commands into keyboards provided a pleasant background noise as she hiked to her assigned briefing room. She said ‘hiked’ in jest, but as HQ was underground, during the building process, the architects apparently decided to err on the side of more space and Maria was huffing and puffing by the time she placed her hand on the biometric scanners and stepped into Pod 199998. 

A secret organization wouldn’t be a secret organization without its own lingo. Notable examples included  _ Pods  _ as non-residential rooms,  _ roots _ as corridors,  _ stems  _ as escalators and  _ chutes  _ as elevators. Maria wasn’t quite sure when or why the SHIELD specific dialect evolved, but it certainly established a sense that its speakers were a part of something, an exclusive club, perhaps.

This pod, in particular, was reserved for level six clearance and above. Maria’s level eight got her in the door and a space between Black Widow and Hawkeye at the briefing table. Barton smiled at her and signed;  _ New Q has my ears. He says he can make them invisible.  _ He rolled his eyes.  _ He needs to spend less time messing with my senses and more time making horizontal stems for exhausted assassins. A quarter-mile from here to the cafeteria. Hungry. _

Romanoff frowned and signed back without taking out her earbuds.  _ Wheels.  _

Maria shook her head.  _ Barton’s rollerblades got shot out. I rescued his ass. _

Nat smirked.  _ Ambushed? _

_ Sort of. Hydra meanie— _

“Ahem!”

Agent M walked in and pulled a remote out of a pocket. She turned and hit a button and the glass wall and door fogged up. Maria, Nat and Clint stood at attention. With short, silver hair and a suit snazzier than Maria’s, she cut an imposing figure.

“Strike Team Delta, 007, nice to finally make your acquaintance. I hear you’ve been asking for a mission?”

Barton grinned.  _ Finally,  _ he mouthed and mimed an arrow being shot. 

M ignored him and hit another button on her remote. A projection of a woman’s face sprung up from the tabletop. “This is Carol Danvers. Former Air Force, reported KIA after being shot down by the terrorist group Blue Angels while transporting an experimental energy core, known as the Tesseract. New intel revealed that she survived the crash, and was taken and coerced into working with them. She escaped, and took the Tesseract with her, and has been living under the radar ever since. We received word that the Blue Angels found her, and is currently planning to take her and the weapon back into their custody. Your job is to keep that from happening.”

Maria raised her hand. “Tesseract, energy core, whatever, what kind of threat level are we talking here?”

“In Angel hands? We’d be lucky if we got out with the East Coast above water.”

Nat whistled. “How stable is it?”

“As long as it’s properly contained? You’ll be fine. Touch it on the other hand…”

“Clint, did you get all that,” Nat asked. 

_ Rescue lady, don’t touch the bomb. _

Maria turned back to M. “He’s good. How time-sensitive is this?”

“We have about three weeks before the Angels locate the core and cross her off. 007, you take point, charm her, get her to trust you. Hawkeye, eyes in the sky, as always, don’t let anyone get the drop on your team, Widow, gather anything you can on her, make 007’s job easier.”

_ What’s our time frame? When do we make contact?  _

_ “ _ Saturday, at the absolute latest.” M clicked her remote again and what appeared to be a 3-d loading bar flashed before hundreds of tiny scans of documents popped through. “This is what we have on her life pre-crash.” She hit another button and a single two-page Person of Interest report took center stage. “She goes by Vers, works at Pancho’s bar, and lives in a tiny apartment that just so happens to be a subway stop away from yours, Rambeau.”

“Wait, really? I’ve never been to Pancho’s, ‘cuz I have a social life that doesn’t involve getting drunk and doing bad karaoke.”

“Now you do. We need your interaction and connection to seem organic, both to her and the Angels, or we’d send in Romanoff. I trust you three with the fate of the world. Get to work. You have an ex/pro to be completed in less than 144 hours.” 

Nat raised an eyebrow. “This is way too casual. Shouldn’t there be more people on this?”

“You guys get Q and all of our satellites at your disposal. I’m updating your clearance to level nine. As soon as I walk out the door, radio silence, this meeting never happened. We cannot risk a Blue Angels attack now, not with Operation Theta so close to completion.” 

_ M turned. I couldn’t read lips.  _

_ Q’ll give us fancy shit. We get satellites. Keep our mouth’s shut. _

_ Thanks, Nat. Why not go in guns blazing? Grab woman get bomb go? _

“For starters, the Angels appear to be afraid of her. They aren’t angling for the core specifically because she’s in the picture. If we bring her in, and we don’t immediately snag the Tesseract, they’ll move in. We don’t know what they know about its location. For all we know, we’d be playing into their hands.”

“And if she’s hostile? Threatens us with the Tesser-whatever?”

“Than you do whatever you can to preserve the safety of your team and civilization at large. Any means necessary, 007.”


	2. Six words that can ruin your…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of filler team building, so next chapter is gonna get real.

Maria scooped a handful of Goldfish out of the bowl as she highlighted the exits to Vers’ apartment, “Pass the work schedule, Nat?”

“Here. I’d suggest Friday. There’s trivia night, and her shift ends right before it. It’s a highly social event. Her bestie said that she always sticks around and mingles with the regulars. We’d have an in.”

Maria chewed her Goldfish thoughtfully. “Wait, hold on, where’d Clint leave the blueprints for Pancho’s?”

“Under the salsa bowl.”

“ _ Dammit,  _ Clint.” She grabbed the papers and sighed at the ring on it. “It’s a highly uncontrolled environment. We’d be surrounded by civilians. You talked to her coworkers?”

“Yeah. She’s put down roots. Everyone loves her, she has lots of friends. She won’t cause a scene while in public.”

“So she might be resistant to us messing that up.”

Nat shrugged. “All we want is the Tesseract out of commission. She hands it over, we leave her alone and maybe owe her a favor. She wants protective custody, we can do that. No charges for anything she might’ve done while being held by the Blue Angels. Pretty standard deal.”

“Is that the one you got?”

“Nope. My contract was ‘you make my work legit and I stop leaving the bodies of corrupt billionaires on your doorstep.’”

“Is that what you did before you came to SHIELD?”

“Sort of. After I took out the Red Room, I spent a few years getting all of the brainwashing out of my head. Then, I started working as a mercenary and made a mint doing whatever anyone hired me to do. Then someone wanted me to kill a kid, and I just couldn’t do it. I’ve killed a lot of people, but just looking at her, I freaked out and shot my employer. Got into doing good. Worked as a hacker for the Rising Tide, except I didn’t just leak stuff, I also stabbed oil execs and took out SHIELD’s worst baddies for them behind the scenes. Finally, Clint hunted me down and recruited me.”

Before Maria could answer, the oven timer went off. “Clint! Your brownies,” she yelled. “Clint?” Nat looked at her funny. “It’s been a long day. Laugh it up all you want, I forgot he was deaf. I’ve known him for a year and a half and I forgot he was fucking deaf. I’ll go get him. Can you get the brownies out before they burn?”

Nat smirked at her. “Sure.”

Maria hopped off her chair and left the living room to her bedroom. Clint was sitting on the fire escape, aiming his bow at something. He fired. Maria waited until he noticed her and waved her over. He pointed at the Target billboard a few blocks away, now shot full of arrows. 

“You’re gonna get me put on a list,” she said, making sure he could read her lips. “Your brownies are done. Come on over, the spies have it all plotted out.”

He held up one finger and aimed his bow again, this time at a teenager with a giant poster board display. His arrow, a suction cup, hit the kid on the side of the head. Clint immediately ducked and motioned Maria to do the same. The kid squeaked and dropped her project. She unstuck the arrow in confusion, then started jumping up and down, squealing. 

“Hawkeye?!” She yelled. Maria rolled her eyes. 

“He’s over here!” She called and pulled him up.

She gasped.  _ I’m K-A-M-A-L-A  _ she signed.  _ I’m learning ASL. _

Clint grinned and gave her a thumbs up.  _ Always nice to meet a fan. I’m doing spy stuff! Gonna take out a bad guy. Keep the arrow. _

She nodded, grabbed it and her poster on the water cycle and ran off. 

Maria smiled at him. “That was adorable.” He scoffed and followed her back into the kitchen, where Nat was pulling dessert out of the oven with pink flowery oven mitts. “Where’d you get those? They aren’t mine.”

“I brought them from home.”

“You brought oven mitts to a planning session?”

“We always end up baking and braiding hair. It’s like a secret spy sleepover!”

“Oh, it is not!”

Nat pointed to where Clint was arranging the nail polish by color.

“Huh”

Nat set the brownies down to cool. 

“Clint, can you look over our plans? I sketched up a diagram. You’re sitting on it.”

_ Sorry.  _ Clint grabbed her map from under him and cross-checked it with Pancho’s blueprints and a wrinkled piece of paper he pulled out of his back pocket. Meanwhile, Nat grabbed the black nail polish and handed it to Maria. Maria started with Nat’s index finger. “Wanna play truth or truth,” she asked. 

“Sure,” Nat said, careful not to move. “You wanna ask first?”

“Definitely. Got any tattoos?”

“One. I’ll show you both when Clint’s done.”

“Really?”

“Yep. You?”

“Nah. Scared of needles.”

“No way. You took out a goon with a toothbrush you forced into a pencil sharpener. How the hell are you scared of needles?”

“I don’t like being stabbed with a tiny melee weapon.”

Nat shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Maria finished Nat’s left hand and got on with her right. Nat frowned as she thought about her question. “What’d you do before you joined SHIELD?”

“Do you want the official answer or the juicy answer?”

“I live for the juice.” She cringed. “That sounds so gross.”

“Well, I was born in Louisiana. I graduated from college back before the wheel was invented, according to the interns on base. It took me a year at the telecommunications place to get bored, and bored hands are easily recruited. Bored hands also release eighteen years of falsified tax information. I spent a while doing investigations at Nelson & Murdock’s Law Office—”

“You worked with Murdock? As in, Matt Murdock?”

“...yeah?”

“Were you aware of his, erm,  _ nighttime  _ activities?”

Maria grimaced. “Yeah, he and Foggy kept sneaking out during late work nights. It was an inside joke what lengths they’d go to disappear together. We called them  _ Daredevils  _ because they didn’t know when to quit _ .  _ I tried not to think about it.”

Nat blinked. Maria bit her lip trying not to laugh.

“You’re messing with me.”

“Oh, big time. Your face, man. Everyone knew he was a spandex-clad vigilante. We just had too much casework to deal with to care.”

“I can see why you’re such a good spy. You had me going there.”

“And… you’re done. Can you do red for mine?”

Clint strutted by, waving the red nail polish.

“Guess not. He’s gonna use it all up painting his arrow tips to look bloody.” 

_ You snooze, you lose _

“How about purple?” Nat grabbed the purple paint and two brownies.  _ Clint, how’s our plan look? _

_ Great. I made some notes, look them over. _

_ Sure.  _ Nat got to work on Maria’s nails with one hand and got to work on the blueprints as Maria watched and took a bite out of her brownie. She immediately gagged. 

_ Clint, what did you put in these things? _ Maria grabbed a napkin and spat it out. 

Clint frowned.  _ I wanted to shake it up. Left side weed, right side walnuts. _

Nat almost dropped the nail polish on her sketches.  _ You put walnuts in our brownies? What the hell? _

An hour later, once Clint and Maria finally finished hashing out why the Spartacus Scramble was a bad idea in a crowded bar, Nat’s eyes lit up and she snapped her fingers. “I almost forgot to show you guys.” She rolled up her jeans expectantly. 

Clint, not privy to the previous conversation, looked confused.  _ We already knew you’re bi though? _

Nat sighed. “Maria wanted to see my tattoo.”

_ You have a tattoo? How have I not seen it? _

She shrugged. “Bottom of the foot is hardly an erogenous—”

“Gross, guys. Let’s get to the ink.” Maria said, resolving to purchase some brain bleach.

Nat yanked off her sock and twisted her leg so the heel faced up. What looked like some sort of tiny red hourglass blazed on the pad of her big toe. 

“Does it have any meaning to it?”

“Kind of. In the Red Room, we weren’t allowed to have any originality, any mistakes, any humanity. I modeled it after the red mark on the black widow spider’s back. I had it done intentionally where it wouldn’t be easily seen because I am a spy after all, but at least I know of one little thing that follows me everywhere, no matter what identity I take on.”

_ It looks sick. Don’t eat me. _

“No promises.”

“This is getting mushy. Let’s go eat Clint’s disgusting walnut brownies.”

_ They aren’t disgusting! _

“Clint, I love you more than anything, but those walnut brownies are inedible. Dibs on the weed.”


	3. Yeah, Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, this was so much fun to write. I'm sorry that I'm not constantly updating, but y' know, I have a life so I can't.

The incessant beeping of an alarm clock in the morning seemed to be the only constant in Carol’s life. From the age of six, she learned to wake up before anyone else to sneak off to school to avoid her father's rages, at fifteen, she couldn’t afford to miss the bus because she would have to walk two miles to class. As soon as she was old enough, she joined the Air Force where the alarm was a bugle but no less irritating and  ** _the guns she heard that hit her wings seemed to have an eerily familiar beat to them. _ **

** _She thought she was going to die. She prayed to wake up as she hurtled towards the ground. She would wake up and she would be ok and she didn’t want to die she didn’t want to die—_ **

** _She came to. The steady beeping wasn’t an alarm clock. She woke up and the hospital room wasn’t a hospital room and there was a man in a uniform she didn’t like and she had wires and electrodes stuck to her head and why didn’t she like the uniform she was probably overreacting that’s what Dad always said she overreacted and he didn’t hit her and she should probably listen to what the uniformed man told her. _ **

** _For once in her life, Carol Danvers went back to sleep. She didn’t listen to the heart rate monitor, why should another alarm clock tell her what to do she went back to sleep and—_ **

Vers woke up sweating. She tore off the covers and grabbed Soren’s alarm clock and wrenched open the shitty window. She yanked the cord out of the wall and pitched the damn machine out the window. It crashed satisfactorily. She grinned. Vers 3, glorified potato radio 0. 

She strode across the room and shook her roommate awake. “Soren! Up!”

She groggily swatted at her. “Why? The human body needs eleven hours of sleep. Probably. I should get a bit more just to be safe.”

Vers crossed her arms and stared at her. Soren squeezed her eyes shut tighter. Finally, she sighed. “It’s Thursday, isn’t it? We have to serve the nerds who come in to get fries for breakfast?”

“Yep.”

“My alarm didn’t wake me up. You did. You destroyed another one, didn’t you?”

“Yep.”

“Tell me you didn’t put it in the bathtub again at least, right?”

“Nope. Out the window.”

She sat up and climbed out of bed. “So much for keeping a low profile.”

“Hey, not only do we live in New York City, and compete with the guy who wears cat ears and fights crime for the “weirdest neighbors ever,” but this way, the downstairs assholes think we’re the idiots who keep knocking out the power with our destructive shenanigans.”

“Y’know, I’m pretty sure they’re horns. His official Twitter says so. It’s in the bio and everything.”

“It’s not like he’d know. Go take a shower while I get dressed. We gotta be at work in an hour and we have to bike. Spidey threw a subway car at Hydro-Man last night. Made the ten o’clock news. Not that you’d know. You go to bed at eight like a psycho.”

Soren ignored her jibe, “Hydro-Man is made of water. The train car would just go through him. Why would he think—”

“Go. Shoo.”

She grumbled and resisted but let herself be shepherded out. Meanwhile, Vers rifled through her dresser searching for that one band t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Granted, her entire wardrobe was band tees and jeans but there was one nice grey one that paired beautifully with her bomber jacket—

_ Aha.  _ She yanked off her sweatpants and sleeping tank top and tossed them back into the laundry basket. She tugged the shirt over her head and hopped on one leg as she forced the other into the pant leg, before tangling them both and face-planting on the hardwood floor.

“Shit!”

Vers lay slumped on the cold hard ground and groaned. That’d leave a mark. She managed to pull her pants up like a big girl and crawl onto the couch.

“Ow,” she muttered, clutching her forehead. Scratch everything she told Soren. She was never gonna move again. She would spend the rest of her existence on this one comfy cushion. 

The universe disagreed, and decided to start knocking on her door. 

“Get the door!” Soren yelled from the bathroom. 

“No,” she yelled back, rocking from the pain.

“If it’s a bad guy, you get to beat them up!” 

Vers sighed. “Fine,” she said, stalked off towards the door, and threw it open. 

A scrawny kid holding a stack of pizzas shrunk back. 

“...hi? Is your face ok?”

She cocked her head and squinted at him. “You don’t look like an assassin. I could pick you up and throw you. Is the pizza poisoned?”

“I sure hope not,” he said, giving her a tolerant smile. 

“I’m still gonna need you to take a bite, seeing as I didn’t order any pizza.”

“That you didn’t, ma’am. It was ordered and paid for on your behalf through the Horny Hippo’s Pizzagram App.”

“Sure. Then you wouldn’t mind having a slice.”

The kid looked frustrated, yet he kept that infuriatingly patient smile on his face. “Ma’am, we aren’t allowed to do that. What you do with the pizza is none of my business, but I’m going to need you to sign that you got it.”

He held out a tablet and stylus. Vers carefully read the terms and conditions and clicked the checkbox. 

“Thank you. The pizza came with a message. I’m guessing you don’t want to listen to it in song.”

Vers raised an eyebrow. “No, no, I wanna hear you sing it…?”

“Peter” he offered, before clearing his throat, tapping his shoe and sang to the tune of Happy Happy Birthday;

_ This is Wendy Lawson _

_ It turns out I’m alive _

_ Good people have been slaughtered _

_ And now the shield’s a hive _

_ Atrocities thought ended _

_ Didn’t begin again _

_ They happened in the shadows _

_ And Mar-Vell starts with M _

_ So come now out of hiding _

_ And lend a helping hand _

_ I’ve sent you my three wise men _

_ They’ve traveled through the land _

_ Or at least to Pancho’s _

_ You’ll see them very soon _

_ Lead them to salvation _

_ From the fiery blue moon _

Vers gaped. “Doctor Lawson’s alive?”

“I don’t know who that is, but the song said so.”

“You didn’t write the song then?’

“No, it came pre-written from the customer. I have a printed copy. I really wasn’t sure what to sing it to. I usually deliver cutesy anniversary messages, not… whatever that was. Do you play D&D or something?”

“Yeah, whatever kiddo. Give me the transcript.”

Peter pulled it out of a pocket in his pizza-insulating bag but held it out of reach. “Would you like me to call the cops?”

“Nope.”

“Would you like me to call the Punisher?”

“Definitely nope.”

“The TMNT?”

“The what?”

“The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? They live in the sewers, fight crime? Wear colorful scarves around their eyes that do jack-crap to disguise them because they are literally giant turtles?”

Vers blinked. “The  _ what?” _

“I deliver pizza to Deadpool. Nothing shocks me at this point.”

“Have you considered another line of work?

Peter winced. “Death before retail.”

“It is too early and I am probably too concussed for this. Gimme the transcript and pizza and I tip generously.”

Peter handed over the transcript and pizza. Vers tipped generously. 

She closed the door on a bemused teenager and turned to where Soren stood in a towel holding a bread knife.

“What happened to your head?”

“Fuck work. Lawson’s alive. She’s contacted us,” she said waving the piece of paper.

Soren’s jaw dropped. “How? She was shot! You saw it yourself!”

“I’m not sure about anything anymore. Get dressed and grab a highlighter. The message is weirdly cryptic. We’re gonna have to go all English teacher on this bitch.”

——————————————————

Clint, Nat, and Maria walked in the chute currently occupied by one other nameless agent bulked up in tac gear. Nat held her wrist up to a hidden scanner, and they shot down the shaft like a bullet. The agent checked their watch before stepping in front of Maria. 

_ We have thirty seconds  _ they signed. 

_ The eyes see a loop. They can hear though. _

Clint frowned.  _ Eyes? _

_ Cameras,  _ Maria quickly signed.  _ Brief us _

_ Trust no one. Act normal. We’re compromised. We’ve evacuated as many as we can trust. Save Q. They needed to stay on base to keep up appearances. You three are our only hope. M stands for—  _

The agent wavered on their feet and tried to lean on the wall before collapsing. 

Nat rushed to their side while Clint and Maria pulled out their heaters. The chute kept falling, getting closer and closer to floor -616 with no signs of stopping. Nat took the agent’s pulse, before shaking her head. 

Abandoning stealth, she started barking orders. “Clint! Pop the panel on the ceiling.” She grabbed a flashlight from her belt and tossed it to him. “You know where the emergency brakes are.” 

She turned to Maria. “This agent had a heart attack from the falling chute. Understood?”

Maria nodded and rifled through Clint’s duffel bag. She pulled a pair of magnetic handles out and passed one to Nat.

“This’ll be rough.”

Nat braced for impact.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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